Sirius dropped his hand, but did not look back where Dudley pointed. He stared ahead at the recently screeching painting, his scowl so deep his eyes nearly disappeared under his brow.
"Yes, there is a head on the wall. I can try to put sack cloths over all the monstrosities, can try my hardest to wipe out the stains, but I cannot cover up what my family did, what they believed. What they tried to make of me and my brother." He sighed and his gaze found Dudley again, still curled into a ball. "I mostly want to lie on the floor too when I think about them for too long." Sirius kicked a box out of the way and plopped down on the floor next to Dudley, staring up at the ceiling, hands clasped over his chest.
Sirius didn't say anything else for a long time. Dudley's right side ached, and he used his hands to cushion his head but didn't leave the floor. He wasn't sure what they were doing now and how long they would do it. He wondered what it was like growing up in such a dark, lonely home like Sirius. His thoughts wandered back to Godric's Hollow and its quiet square with the burbling fountain, the simple cemetery, cobblestone streets, the neat rows of English cottages. It wasn't always the most exciting place to grow up but it was the only home he remembered. Harry and he were two of five children in a neighborhood of mostly Ministry of Magic officials nearing retirement and professors and intellectuals studying magical theories and conducting experiments like Aunt Lily. The local grocer arranged her tins of vegetables in elaborate towers and her glass jars of potion supplies on shelves reachable only by a precariously balanced ladder. The local bakery sold out of bread and pastries by 11:00am, the local café bustled by 12:30pmwith the lunch rush, the local school burst forth with students by 3:15pm. Aunt Lily and Uncle James finished their work and apparated home by 6:05pm. Everything and everyone had their place, except Dudley.
Dudley was the only Muggle living in the wizard enclave. As long as the other children showed only small sparks of magical ability every once and a while, there was little difference between them. Like all children, they played in the town square and ran around the park. They complained about homework together and their families shared meals and childcare when the other parents needed a break. When the children started talking about Hogwarts and dreaming about which house they would get into, it was easy enough for Dudley to pretend he would be joining them. He pretended he too would enter the famed Gryffindor house like many Godric's Hollow residents. He pretended he too would join the Quidditch team and trade math lessons for potions and Latin lessons for wandwork.
A year ago, things changed. Hydra Ioerk turned eleven and received her letter. Suddenly, Harry, Raven Dirk, and Katrina Gillespie began pressing their parents for more details, which professors they should watch out for, when they would shop for supplies, how often their parents would visit. When Hydra came home for Christmas, her stories were fantastical and thrilling and she carried herself with a more grown up air, with a closed lip smile and dancing eyes when she wanted to hold back some detail: "You'll have to see it for yourself." Hogwarts was all the children talked about. Aunt Lilly and Uncle James were drawn into the whirlwind and shared stories about the Whomping Willow and the squid in the lake and the shifting staircases. Dudley would slip away to his room when the dinner table talk became as impenetrable to as Platform 9 ¾.
Dudley shifted on the floor of the House of Black, careful to not disturb other boxes or pull down the curtain and unleash the shrieking. He had dreamed of escaping Godric's Hollow since the Hogwarts talk had reached a fever pitch. He didn't know if he had really escaped though. Wasn't the whole point of him being at Sirius's house so that he could learn magic? And what indication did he have that he could? With the wand from the beautiful owl in his hands, it had sparked but he hadn't felt any power build up inside of him, any innate ability awakening. He was as surprised as everyone in the room that it worked. He wondered if he should keep the wand with him at all times, even if he didn't know how to use it yet. Was that what wizards did? Would the wand make him feel more like he belonged?
Aunt Lily had assured Dudley that he had other skills, like his athletic ability and flair for cooking; she reminded him that a lack of magical skills was not a deficiency. She brought him to meet his Muggle grandparents, her parents, before they died. They patted him on the shoulder, saying what a sad state of business, losing both his parents to one gas explosion, and how lucky he was that Aunt Lily found him. Aunt Lily nodded and wiped away tears. Dudley watched the older couple, Mrs. Evans with green eyes like his aunt and Mr. Evans with his mum's brown eyes, both wearing square spectacles. They reminisced about their daughters when they were younger, and Dudley listened eagerly, hoping to learn something new about his mum, something only a parent would remember about their child. They often praised Aunt Lily's cleverness and kindness but seemed to skirt around anything specific about Petunia. He felt he was looking into a pool at dusk, only wavering reflections that disappear the closer you look.
Dudley had hoped that with Sirius, without Harry to compete with, without the looming arrival of other Hogwarts letters, without the sadness around his parents' deaths and the pity others felt for him, he could finally impress someone. He could finally test his own abilities, in his own time. He could see if there really was more to him than anyone expected. But he was already on the floor, waiting and watching and scared of shadows and magical objects. He watched Sirius's chest rise and lower.
"Have you ever met a house elf, Dudley?" Dudley twitched in surprise and a box shuddered above him. Sirius waved a lazy wand at it, and the box stilled.
"N-n-no?" He had to get a better handle on himself. His jumpiness was going to get him more than embarrassed in this overstuffed house – he was likely to end up squished under a box.
"The head you saw was one of my mother's most loyal servants." Sirius spit the words out like poison. "This was how she rewarded them. And the others talked with envy of this fate. The whole enslavement of house elves is despicable. It was even worse before the war. Your Godric's Hollow types are too morally advanced to use them of course, but many of the old families in this neighborhood still employ them. That is, if they paid them it could be called employment." Sirius sat up, his arms wrapped around tented knees. He narrowed his eyes at the recently shrieking painting. "My family's legacy won't leave me alone. And probably it shouldn't. They did not have to pay for their transgressions, so someone should."
Sirius finally helped Dudley up and they wandered down to the warmer, brighter part of the house with the kitchen and made more sandwiches. Sirius insisted Dudley teach him some card games and the candles burned low that evening. They did not leave for Hogwarts that day. They did not start lessons that day. But they would soon.